


Safe to feel at grace (if you've lost your way)

by Porcupine19



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Mainly Nagini's), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, But nothing actually happens cos it's been like 2 days and they're shattered, But they'll be ok, Canon Compliant, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief, Nagini gets a hug, Nagini needs a hug, Nagini's POV, Newt and Tina are adorable, Past Rape/Non-con, Romance on the cards between Nagini and Yusuf, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Burn, So much angst, after Paris, bereavement, theseus needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porcupine19/pseuds/Porcupine19
Summary: After Paris, everyone goes back to Newt's and tries to deal with their grief and guilt. Nagini has shedloads of both, and she's never felt more alone. But true friends have a tendency to show up, just when you least expect them..."Recovery takes a long time, but you don't have to do it alone."- The Soul Never Left by TriffidsandCuckoos"You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity."- Very Good Lives by J.K. Rowling





	1. Chapter 1

Nagini has little clear memory of the first few hours after they walk, following Mr Scamander and the man they call Dumbledore, across the bridge and through the gates of Hogwarts Castle. In a bizarre, ragged procession, they all pile into the Headmaster’s office, a beautiful room full of books with dozing magical portraits covering the walls. The tall, gleaming windows place only a thin sheet of enchanted glass between herself and the grey September sky, and untouched miles of bleak, vast moorland below it. She sinks onto a faded armchair while Mr Scamander, his elder brother, the woman Auror and the Ministry men all cluster together by the ornately carved desk, whispering with Dumbledore and a frail-looking, elderly wizard who must be the Headmaster. The Can’t-Spell, Mr Kowalski, draws up a chair beside her and just sits, staring at nothing, his face blank with tiredness and misery. Yusuf Kama produces a chair out of nothing with his wand, then sits apart from both groups. Like Mr Kowalski, he seems to be merely staring into space- but his face does not hold sadness as much as a kind of emptiness.  
She knows that expression like an old friend. Mostly from the age-spotted, unbreakable mirror in her cage at the circus, but also from Credence.  
Credence…  
She tries to stay awake, to listen to the conversation- her ears, more sensitive than normal people’s, catch odd words like Confederation and inquest- but she’s too far gone. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, her mind with the same numb grief she reads in Kama’s eyes. All sense of decorum forgotten, she kicks off her thin shoes and curls up on the armchair like a child, adjusting the blue overcoat (Kama hasn’t asked for it back) so it drapes over her like a blanket. It smells faintly like a public lavatory that hasn’t been cleaned for a while, but it’s soft and warm, and there’s something about its weight on her that makes her feel more secure, more safe. Within seconds, she is fast asleep.

“Uh… Miss? Excuse me-”  
She wakes slowly, the fog of sleep still thick around her eyes. Her limbs ache and there’s a dull, throbbing pain in her neck; she tries to move it and winces, massaging it. Not the best angle to sleep at, then. Blinking, she sits up to see Kowalski leaning towards her, his hand on the armrest and a look of concern in his large, brown eyes.  
“You ok?”  
She nods.  
“Sorry for waking you up like that, it’s just-” He jerks his head towards the others, grimacing slightly- and Nagini stiffens as she realises: they’re all looking at her. She shrinks backwards and away from them, her chest tightening.   
“What’s happening?” The panic rises in her like boiling water. Are the Aurors going to take her away? Are they going to lock her up because of Credence? Will she have to go back to Indonesia?  
He leans back, looking concerned. “Hey, don’t worry. These guys are just talking ‘bout what we’re gonna do now, ok?”  
She nods again, slowly. What we’re going to do could mean any number of things, after all.  
“Right, then.” The woman Auror- what did they call her, Tia? No, Tina- Miss Goldstein, the German one called her- swings her own chair close to Nagini’s. She tries to hold a reassuring smile on her face, but underneath she looks too tense, too sad for it to be real. The pretty woman who joined Grindelwald was her sister. Nagini heard her saying, not my sister, not my baby sister, sobbing into her hands; Scamander had briefly forgotten his dead friend to sit by her, trying to comfort her.  
But now, Miss Goldstein is doing the old favourite tactic of pushing her sadness down, locking it away. Getting on with the matter at hand: stand up, walk here, do this. Nagini is a master of that particular art.  
Miss Goldstein swallows. “Here’s the plan. Newt and Theseus-” she indicates the Scamander brothers- “have kindly offered the rest of us beds for the foreseeable future, at least until the Ministry’s done with us. Seeing as neither of their places are big enough for, uh-”  
She tries to do a quick head-count.  
“Six,” Yusuf Kama supplies, stirring a cup of night-black coffee. “Depending on whether or not you count the Niffler.”  
The furry, black mole-like creature pokes its head out of Newt Scamander’s coat, and nuzzles the air, hopefully.  
“Right. So, we- um, Newt and- uh, Theseus and I were thinking: if Theseus goes with Jacob and Yus- and Mr Kama, and Miss- I’m sorry, do you mind if I call you Nagini?  
Taken aback, Nagini manages a shrug followed by a hasty, embarrassed nod.   
“Thanks.” Another smile, real-looking this time. “Would you be ok if the two of us stayed at Newt’s house? It’ll be a bit of a squeeze, but if you don’t mind- would that be alright?”  
Nagini opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She doesn’t… it doesn’t make sense…  
“It shouldn’t be too cramped, really,” Newt adds, misinterpreting her silence. “I don’t normally use the bedroom anyway, so…” He smiles, hopefully. Kindly.  
Finding the right words is suddenly about as easy as catching a pixie in a swarm of other pixies. Nagini struggles, for a few seconds, between “Yes”, “Ok”, “Thank you”, “Why are you being so nice”, “Stop making fun of me” and “Wait… if you don’t use the bedroom, where do you sleep?”- among others. But they all feel wrong, they’re hard and jagged and get stuck in her throat. A second later, she’s horrified to feel tears welling up in her eyes. Blinking them back, she manages- in a hoarse whisper (when did she last have a drink?)- “You… you want me to… come stay with you? At your house?”  
Newt looks breifly confused, before a mixture of sadness and realisation dawns on his face. His pale green eyes look into her dark ones. “Yes.” He looks away again, but his voice remains firm. “Yes, I do.”  
Something touches Nagini’s hand and she flinches- but it’s only Miss Goldstein, her face full of concern. Nagini pulls away.  
“Hang on a minute.” The Scottish Auror starts forward, drawing himself up. Again, Nagini shrinks in on herself. “Let’s just have a look at the facts before we start forming welcoming committees, shall we?” The others remain silent. “Look, I’m more than aware of your… reputation, Miss Goldstein, and Merlin knows Scamander has a habit of taking home strays, but I’m afraid that’s not how these things work. Mr Kowalski, Monsieur Kama and this… young woman will need to return to the Ministry with-”  
“Says who?” Miss Goldstein has twisted around to glare at him, her face reddening. At the same moment Dumbledore says, more mildly, “And that would be on… what grounds exactly, Torquil?”  
The man glares at him, flushed but defiant. “You’re no fool, Dumbledore, so don’t waste my time. For one thing, the Muggle isn’t even supposed to be here-”  
“The Muggle’s got a name, pal,” muttered Kowalski, a sudden coldness on his face.  
“- and I’m sure MACUSA will be very interested in his association with two of its employees, one of whom is now a known associate of a terrorist- and you can wait your turn, Miss Goldstein; there are plenty of questions about your sister I’ll be wanting you to answer, t-“  
Miss Goldstein leaps to her feet, her fists clenched and eyes flashing. “Don’t talk like you know one thing about her. Don’t you dare. And as for Jacob, Mr Travers, you know perfectly well MACUSA’s only got the right to obliviate No-Majes on U.S. soil. As long as Jacob’s in Europe, he’s not under our jurisdiction and he’s certainly not under mine.”  
“And his acquaintance with Theseus’ brother is grounds to exempt him from Obliviation while he resides here, assuming Newt is willing to vouch for him,” Dumbledore adds, pleasantly.  
Travers looks momentarily stumped, but ploughs on: “That may be so, but anyone whom that girl’s been in contact with will have to be investigated. As for those two-” His harsh eyes shift between her and Kama, before he turns to Theseus. “I want to know exactly what he was doing in that cemetery- and in Paris, for that matter. Oh, and I’d be interested to know how he’s become so friendly with your brother.”  
“I wouldn’t call our relations friendly,” Kama interrupts, his tone icy, “but the first one is simple enough: I live there. In Paris, that is, not the cem-”  
“Quiet,” Travers snaps. “As for her-” Nagini’s stomach contracts- “you know perfectly well, Dumbledore, that I have every right to arrest her on suspicion of aiding a fugitive from justice, not to mention the arson attack in that little freak show of hers.”  
Miss Goldstein, looking furious, suddenly moves to place herself directly between Nagini and Travers. “And let’s be honest, I doubt she was even in France legally in the first place,” he finishes, with a contemptuous look in Nagini’s direction.  
She can feel herself withering under his dark, narrowed eyes. He’s right. He does have every right. Out of everyone here, she knew Credence best- or thought she did- and he was the only person who knew what they did to you in that place, and why they’d had to burn it. And if there are any immigration papers in her name- unlikely, knowing Skender- they’re probably fake, and definitely in his possession (wherever he is now). How can she tell them? How can she explain that it wasn’t her fault-  
Dumbledore clears his throat. “I must say, Torquil, considering that over twenty people died last night this seems a rather odd time to discuss the survivors’ travel documentation.” His voice is still polite, but with the faintest edge of steel, and his expression is even chillier than Kama’s.   
“Not my problem. I’m a servant of the law, Professor, not its master.”  
“How ironic.”  
For a second, Nagini wonders who has spoken. Then she realised that everyone is staring at Theseus Scamander. Travers looks stumped, his brow creased, for the first time no angry retort on his lips.  
Scamander looks back and suddenly, out of all the eyes in the room, Nagini realised that his are the coldest. There is mockery there, mixed in with pain and regret and sadness- but most of all a hard, burning anger. He stands up, not taking his eyes off Travers. “Would you mind if I had a quick word, Mr Travers?” He jerks his head, feigning casualness, towards the door. “In private?”  
The smallest hint of colour drains from Travers’ face. He nods curtly, then turns on his polished heel and stalks towards the door before Scamander can lead the way. Scamander walks barely more than a foot behind him, and Nagini isn’t sure whether to admire or fear the way he looks, like he’s about to put a knife in the older man’s back. The kind of quiet rage she remembers seeing so often in Credence’s eyes.

The minutes tick by on an ornate grandfather clock in the corner, as they sit in fragile silence. Dumbledore is leaning on a desk, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, a peaceful but strangely sad expression on his face. Yusuf Kama, meanwhile, looks every inch the pureblood gentleman: poised, collected, dignified. The broken man with the manic eyes, who threatened her in a crypt five feet from the corpse of his mother’s rapist, is in every sense an ocean away. But under the calm exterior he’s alert, watchful. He never truly relaxes, even for one second- every muscle is tightened like a statue about to leap from its plinth. One hand rests, almost casually, on the pocket where he must be keeping his wand. He’s getting ready to run.  
He stirs, looks around. Their eyes meet. Nagini turns away and from then on, keeps her gaze firmly in her lap and does not look up again. Not even to check if she’s right in thinking that Miss Goldstein is still watching her. She’ll probably be on a ship “home”, if Jakarta could ever be called that, this time tomorrow. So there’s no point establishing relations, none in getting attached. 

The door opens, and Travers and Scamander re-enter the office. Scamander looks… odd. A little rattled, yet oddly… triumphant. Travers, though… he still looks angry but more sullen, too. Like a disrespectful child who’s just had an earful from his mother. His fists are clenched, knuckles white, and he keeps shooting distrustful, almost… frightened glances at Scamander.  
Who ignores him.  
Then, Scamander clears his throat and addresses the room at large. “I’m pleased to say that- for now, at least- all that earlier unpleasantness has been settled, so there’s no need for anyone to worry. Obviously there’ll- there’ll be an inquest. And I dare say that all of us will be interviewed about…” He swallows, and his voice shakes slightly. “... about what happened. Last night. Yes.” He clears his throat. Swallows again. “Until then, we may as well be comfortable. So, as Miss Goldstein said: Mr Kowalski and Mr Kama will be coming with me- if you’re agreeable, gentlemen- and Miss Goldstein and Miss… Nagini will be accompanying my brother. We can use Portkeys, I think, assuming Professor Dippet has no objec-”  
“A-Actually, Theseus-” Newt Scamander stands up too, still cradling his Niffler- “I was thinking, unless no-one’s desperate for sleep, perhaps we could all, ah, stop off at mine first? We could rustle up a bit of food, and…” He falters, not quite able to meet his brother’s eyes, in spite of his best efforts. “And, well, I think there are some things we still need to discuss.”  
Nagini can’t see Theseus’ expression, only the back of his head. But he does at least seem to agree.  
“Ok, then.” Goldstein, who had been sitting on a spindly wooden chair during Theseus and Travers’ absence, stands up again.”I, ah- I guess that’s settled.” She looks at Nagini. “If you don’t mind, that is? I never actually checked.”  
Under her anxious gaze, the full realisation of what is happening seems to crash like a rampaging Erumpent into Nagini’s brain.  
They actually seem to mean it: they were asking her to come stay. And they seem almost… happy about it.  
She feels as if her insides are shrinking or maybe turning to stone, her head spinning and her heart so full it might burst.  
Finally, she nods, then forces her lips to move.  
“Yes,” she hears- her voice sounding distant, as though it belongs to someone on the other side of the wall. “Yes, I- I would like that. Thank you,” she adds, not wanting to seem impolite.  
Scamander and Goldstein’s faces both relax into relieved smiles.  
No- no, she must have read that wrong. No wizard- no normal person- will ever react to her like that. Maybe Credence… but look how that ended. They were just being courteous, doing their duty, that was all.  
Goldstein clears her throat. “Uh- Professor Dippet, would you mind…”  
“Certainly, certainly…” With a wand almost as thin and spindly as himself and his chairs, the elderly wizard summons an empty “Pepper Imps” box out of the trash can, waves his wand, and mutters “Portus”.  
The cardboard glows a luminescent blue, then returns to its usual, drab state. Theseus Scamander picks it up, and walks into the centre of their haphazard circle.  
“I’ll assume everyone knows the drill,” he says, holding it out.  
Nagini, in fact, does not- she has never used a Portkey before. But she doesn't say this; everyone, even Mr Kowalski, is nodding, and the thought of publicly declaring her ignorance- her difference- is too humiliating. Fortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any trick to it: Miss Goldstein holds a corner of the box between her thumb and forefinger, and Nagini copies.  
“You should all be off in around ten seconds or so,” chimes in Professor Dippet, checking his watch.  
Nagini grips the box until her fingertips turns white, counting down in her head.   
Ten.  
Nine.  
Eight.  
She sneaks a glance around the circle. They all seem relaxed- except Mr Kowalski, who is going rather green. But even in this neutral stance, their exhaustion and grief is obvious if you look into their eyes, and look hard. Her own eyes fall on Kama- and find him already watching her. But there is something strange about his expression. It holds sadness, yes, but something… something else… she can’t describe it. She can’t look away, and isn’t sure if she wants to.  
They’re nice, his eyes. The deep, dark brown of them, the soft flick of black eyelashes. The constant look they have of being deep in thought, but weighed down by sadness. Not that she likes anyone being sad. But to be alone, to be adrift in the world with nothing and no-one… she knows, after last night, that he understands how that feels, and she finds it oddly comforting.   
She keeps looking.   
He keeps looking back. There’s a strange expression on his face, one as unfathomable to her as Parseltongue must be to him.  
“Two… one…”  
She gasps at the sudden, jerking sensation around her navel, followed by the sickeningly intrusive feeling of being yanked forwards by a hook in her stomach. The world collapses into a blinding hurricane of blurring light and colour; her head is spinning and she’s sure she’s going to be sick- she doesn’t like this, she really doesn’t like this-  
And then, as quickly as they’d set off, her feet hit solid ground, sinking into thick carpet that tickles the bridges of her feet. She can see the walls and furniture of someone’s living room, but doesn’t have time to piece anything more together- everything is wobbling and lurching horribly, and her entire body feels so odd…  
She staggers, her legs jelly-like and her head still all fuzzy- and a pair of thin but warm hands catch her, steadying. They grip her arms, but not in a wanting-to-hurt-her kind of way.  
“Woah- there you go, you’re alright,” says Goldstein’s voice, sounding alarmed but still kind, still reassuring. “C’mon, let’s sit down…” The Auror places one arm around her shoulders, and gently guides her over to an armchair. “That’s it,” she says, as Nagini shuts her eyes tight and tries to breathe without throwing up. And it isn’t just the motion sickness, now. Something else is aching inside her stomach like the echo of a fist, the sensation of being treated with such kindness, and the painful confusion of not knowing why… the last time… when was the last time someone had held her like this… a warm body to lean against on a rooftop, the brush of lips on her hand in a Parisian alley… no, don’t think- don’t think about that-  
But her anguish must have shown on her face, because Goldstein is still holding her like a sister. “That’s it,” the voice says. “That’s it. You’re ok. I’ve got you. It’s gonna be ok.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussion of past rape/ non-con, plus past sex work with heavy dubcon. It's not graphic and relatively brief, so you can skim past it if you want to.

Once Nagini has been lowered onto the chair, Tina Goldstein sits perched on the armrest, gently rubbing her back. She shuts her eyes tight, hoping that when she opens them again the walls will have stopped moving. There’s a clatter of footsteps and then a woman’s voice, in a strong English accent, calls “Oh, thank goodness you’re back- Merlin, is she alright? I can call St Mungo’s if you-”  
“There’s no need for that- honestly, she’ll be fine,” Goldstein says. “I’m pretty sure it’s just bad portkey-sickness, I used to get it all the time. If it hasn’t passed in half an hour or so…”  
More footsteps somewhere above her, then Kama’s voice saying “Here- would this help?”  
“Oh, uh- sure. Thank you. Nagini?”  
She opens her eyes, and sees a hand holding a glass of water. She reaches for it with shaking fingers and looks up at Kama, trying to mumble a thank-you- but he’s already turned away. She takes a small sip of the water, hoping it’s enough to wash away the prickle of disappointment inside her. There was no reason for it to be there in the first place, anyway.  
“Newt, should I rustle up some food? You all look dead on your feet.”  
“Er- yes. That would be lovely, Bunty. Thank you. I’m sorry, I… well, I wasn’t expecting…”  
“Really, it’s fine. I’ll just increase the quantities a bit, let me see…”  
The Englishwoman, a plain girl with red cheeks and curly orange hair, is already bustling over to the tiny kitchen, busying herself with pots and pans. Kowalski gets up, and goes to join her. “Hey, uh- you want a hand with that?” He still looks tired and dishevelled, eyes faintly red from the tears that, being a man, he pretends not to have cried.  
Scamander glances towards him, brow creased in worry. “You can rest if you want to, Jacob. You don’t have to-”  
“No, no, it’s ok, I-” Kowalski develops a sudden, intense and very brief interest in the floor. Then he looks back up at his friend, his jaw firmly set. “I want to.”  
Scamander nods, conceding. Nagini watches them for a moment, then, her head aching and dizzy, closes her eyes and looks down again.  
Clattering sounds start to emerge from the kitchen, draws opening and closing and the hiss of a gas flame. Around her, the sounds of talking, and then Bunty’s voice, soft and sweet.

“Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows,  
Fair is the lily of the valley  
Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne  
But my love is fairer than any…”

Is this what home sounds like, she wanders.  
She finishes the water and watches everyone stand and sit and talk, trying to ignore the hunger pangs in her stomach. It’s not too hard- she’s gone longer than this without food, plenty of times, most recently whenever Skender had wanted to punish some alleged defiance. The other hunger, deep in her chest, to be something other than completely alone and utterly useless, is much more difficult to block out. Especially the being alone.

“It’s not for the parting that my sister pains,  
It’s not for the grief of my mother,  
‘Tis all for the loss of my bonnie Irish lass  
That my heart is breaking forever.”

Credence… Credence, where are you?

Kama, on a stool by the fire, is flicking through a discarded newspaper that he doesn’t seem at all interested in reading. Theseus Scamander leaves the room after five minutes, ostensibly to use the bathroom, but with a shaking voice and red eyes. After another ten minutes, he still hasn’t come back. His brother goes to check on him and returns, shaking his head.  
The rest of the time, he and Goldstein sit side-by-side on the moth-eaten sofa, hands intertwined. Their faces are somber, but every so often one of them will whisper something- something that coaxes a small, tearful smile out of the other and then, from her, the tiniest ghost of a laugh.  
“Oh, Newt…”  
“There’s four of them now, actually. Right bunch of troublemakers- all of them except Einstein got out the night before last, and we had a devil of a time coaxing them all back…”  
She’s still tearful, but the giggles are bubbling up out of her now. “Oh, Mercy Lewis… haven’t you learned not to let those critters out by now?”  
Scamander chuckles. “Yes, well… we do try, but Bunty can’t be everywhere at once. And they’re sly little buggers, always picking the lock, and my basement door’s hardly impenetrable, so…”  
“Wait. Hold up. Your basement door?”  
He grins. “Yes, well, I would keep them all in the case, but even undetectable extension charms have their limits. Most of my, ah- non-human guests are down in the basement. I… I was thinking… maybe later, if you- if you wanted-“  
“Is that where-“  
The words tumble from Nagini’s mouth like a frightened swarm of rats. They crash through the air, disturbing the almost-silence. Scamander and Goldstein stop talking and even Kama looks up, his brow furrowed.  
Gripping the armrest, she swallows, then forces her lips to move. “Is that where you want me to sleep?”  
They’re both staring at her, mouths open. Nagini drops her gaze, cheeks burning.  
“I’m- I’m sorry?”  
She looks back up at Scamander, who is now opening and closing his mouth like a very confused fish. He frowns, and clears his throat. “I’m not sure I… follow… I mean, I could always put up another bed down there, if you’d like- I know I prefer it down there. I mean, to be honest, I do feel more comfortable, sleeping alone...” He frowns. “Sorry, what was the question?”  
Nagini just keeps staring at the floor, picking at the skin around her fingernails. Always a bad habit, sometimes she’s left them covered in scabs and blood blisters. He used to beat her for it, in places her clothes would cover up, she was supposed to look pretty for the shows. But Skender isn’t here now, and tearing her cuticles to shreds is better than speaking again.  
“Woah- hold up.” And then, suddenly, Goldstein is kneeling by her chair, her forehead creased with worry. “Nagini- did you think we were going to make you sleep in the basement?”  
Hot tears are springing up in her eyes as she draws the blue coat more tightly around herself. Not knowing what else to do, she merely shrugs.  
As though the movement has dislodged something, she starts crying in earnest, hot salt water spilling down her face. She tries to blink them back, but it’s too late.  
“Oh, Mercy Lewis… no, don’t cry, please- Nagini, I promise you, no-one was suggesting that. Ok? Hey- look at me?”  
Nagini looks. Miss Goldstein looks horrified, and her eyes- wait- is she crying too? She takes Nagini’s cold-chapped hands in her soft, warm ones. “I promise.” Then she frowns. “Wait… Newt, did you just say you sleep in your basement?”  
Scamander nods, with a rather bashful smile. Then he says, quite seriously, “Er… well, yes. There is a bedroom just along the hall, but I don’t really use it. I suppose I was thinking that one of you go in there and the other could take the couch, although…” He bounces up and down in his seat, wearing a look of deep concentration. “Yes… it’s not especially comfy, I’m afraid.” Goldstein waves a dismissive arm. “Don’t worry about it. She can have the bed- I’ll be fine, I’ve slept in all sorts of places thanks to work.” She gives Nagini’s arm a friendly rub. “That ok, Nagini?”  
No. No, it’s not ok- I can sleep on the sofa, I don’t care. You don’t have to be nice to me. Why are you being like this? I’m already enough of a burden, sitting here like a useless lump, not a drop of proper magic. If you’re going to put me out then please just do it now, stop pretending. Stop being kind, stop smiling, I’m sorry I am grateful but you don’t have to do this I’m nothing I’m no-one I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.  
She nods.  
The tears, dislodged again, come even thicker and faster than before.  
“Oh, you poor thing… it’s ok. C’mere.” The older woman moves back to her seat on the armrest, and then Nagini is gently pulled into her… second proper hug, in recent memory at least. And then she remembers that the first one was Credence, in a ruined apartment with Irma Dugard’s tiny body lying a few feet away, and that he had leaned into her arms but not hugged her back, and then that same night he’d dumped her for a geriatric Austrian psychopath with bad dress sense and hair like a pineapple.  
Because that’s still better than staying with her.  
Because she’s a freak and a monster and she’s closer every day to losing her body and mind and turning into a filthy disgusting thing and then no-one will ever want her again. Because she’s stupid and useless and she’ll never be good enough for anyone, and- why the hell is she still hugging me?  
“Right, I’ll just get this table set and- oh goodness, is she hurt?”  
More footsteps, then Theseus’ voice saying “Ah… did something happen? Newt?”  
“Er- in a way, yes. Listen, perhaps if we all just-”  
“Everything ok back there?” Kowalski’s voice shouts, then his footsteps join the others.  
Her eyes are clamped shut, face screwed up tight to try and stop the tears from flooding out. But it’s no good, it’s no good and she can feel rather than see all of them looking down at her and it’s like being back in that cage, all the normal people staring and laughing, the drunkest of the men shouting about exactly what they’d like to do with her body. She’s suffocating again, her chest tightening, her body rocking back and forth and she can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe-  
“Tina. Tina, should we go-”  
“No, let’s just- Newt, where did you say the bedroom was?”  
“Oh- just through the door and off to the right.”  
“Ok. C’mon, we’re gonna go somewhere quieter… up you get, now…”  
She allows herself to be gently pulled to her feet and steered towards the door, too ashamed to look at any of them.  
“Wait-”  
She stops and raises her head to look at Kama, a decision she instantly regrets: the eye contact renders her painfully aware of her messy, dishevelled state- her eyes red and puffy, her hair matted and all over the place, her face all haggard, makeup smeared everywhere.  
Still, he doesn’t look disgusted, more… she doesn’t know. He holds out something and then, when her arms refuse to obey her, presses it into her shaking palm. A handkerchief. She tries to say thank you; nothing comes out. But he nods as though it has, and places a hand on her shoulder- light, and swiftly withdrawn as he turns away again. Then Goldstein is leading her gently out of the room, and she’s both relieved and disappointed not to look at him any more.

They come to the bedroom, a plain one with white bedclothes and cream-coloured wallpaper. Someone- probably Bunty- has placed a brightly-coloured patchwork quilt on the bed, and a neatly-folded pile of women’s clothes on a spindly wooden chair; otherwise, the place looks as untouched as it would if the owner had been dead for months.  
She feels herself being lowered onto the soft mattress, and the warm heaviness of Goldstein’s arm on her shoulders again, and can’t hold it in any longer. The tears come flooding out of her, great heaving sobs crashing out like breaking tidal waves; she buries her face in the other woman’s shoulder and, for the first time in years, lets herself fall apart.  
“That’s it… that’s it, there you go…”  
She sobs harder and harder- her body must have the storage capacity of the Nile, it seems impossible that her birdlike frame can hold so many tears. But they keep coming, soaking her cheeks and drenching Goldstein’s blouse; she’s a mess of snot and saltwater and she hates herself for being so disgusting, for how ugly she must look.  
“I’m sorry… I’m really sorry…”  
But the Auror only pulls her closer, hugs her more tightly. “It’s ok,” she murmurs, rubbing her back some more. “You just let it all out now- it’s ok, I promise…”  
So, she keeps crying. For all the cold, loveless nights in the orphanage in Jakarta, where they were fed and clothed but never touched, never held. For how indifference turned to horror, and then to cruelty, when her curse emerged with puberty and before she knew how to control it. For the months after she ran away- about fifteen or so, alone and scared, making money the quickest way you could if you had a pretty face and nowhere to go.  
She’d learned how to change only when she wanted to, and used it to scare off the dangerous, violent ones. That was how Skender had found her. There had been warning signs, of course, but her last client had paid in cheap whiskey, she had barely slept in a week, and she had been too hungry and too desperate to turn down the offer of a hot meal.  
When she’d felt the Dreamless Sleep kicking in, it had almost felt like a kindness.  
She wondered, then, if all this weeping would be enough to wash away all those years in the cage. The years when he said she was nothing, that he owned her, that she was to blame when he whipped her or humiliated her or withheld food and water. And the “extra work”, the kind that she would never talk about to anyone, and the things they did to her when the other punters had gone home. The feeling they left behind, like no water would ever make her clean again. But that’s an old wound, an old pain. She’s used to it.  
Instead, most of all, she cries for him. For the first real friend she has ever known, the first person who looked at her as if they saw a human being. Who gave her hope for the first time in years, even though he had so little to begin with. Who had given her someone to care for, to fight for. Someone for whom she could stand in front of a wand, its owner ready to speak the Killing Curse, and say No.  
Long before their escape they’d promised to stick together, no matter what, and she’d thought- or at least, in those small stolen moments- sleeping by his side, the brush of lips in an alleyway- that they might become more than friends.  
But then he’d walked away. Rejected her to choose a life he knew she’d never accept, with people who would happily kill and torture her for their own amusement. With a man who used him, and lied to him, and who she knows will do it again without a second thought.  
But even if he doesn’t, this much she knows: Grindelwald will never love him as much as she does. Never.  
At long last, the river dries up. It’s finished. She can breathe again.  
Sniffling, and feeling oddly drained, she slowly moves herself to an upright position. Goldstein still hasn’t let go of her hands.  
“You feelin’ any better?”  
Nagini nods, too embarrassed to look at her. “I’m sorry…”  
“Hey. Enough. I don’t want to hear that, alright? You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”  
“Sorry,” she says without thinking; Goldstein laughs, but not in an unkind way. Nagini scrambles for something else, but all that comes out is “But I’ve made your shirt all wet…”  
Goldstein laughs again. “Don’t worry about that. It needed a wash, and you would not believe how terrible I am at cleaning spells.”  
A watery giggle escapes Nagini- the first time she’s laughed in… actually, she doesn’t know how long.  
“Yeah, it’s always been Quee-” Goldstein freezes. “I mean, it- it was always- uh- my sister who-”  
She clears her throat several times, fists clenching and unclenching on the duvet cover. Then suddenly, horribly, tears are welling up in her own eyes, her body shuddering with poorly-hidden sobs.  
Of course- she remembers, now, Travers’ words at Hogwarts. The blonde woman who joined Grindelwald right after Credence- that was her sister. Everyone, then, lost somebody last night.  
Shaken and speechless, Nagini holds out Kama’s handkerchief, which she’s been keeping tightly clutched in her hand and completely forgetting to use. It’s accepted with a mumbled “Thanks”, before Goldstein uses it to hastily wipe her eyes. She clears her throat, composes herself. “Anyway- Bunty, you know, Newt’s assistant, the girl with red hair? She keeps spare clothes here anyways-” she nods towards the pile on the chair- “so she said you could borrow those. There’s a clean nightgown, too. And dinner should be ready soon, but after I could run you a bath, if you- obviously you don’t have too, but it’ll help you relax and ok, you don’t smell great, but it’s been at least two days now since I even had a shower, plus I spent the night before last in the sewers, so I must smell appalling- I expect even the men’ll want to clean up too.” She stops, apparently short of breath, her cheeks bright red. “I… I didn’t mean… sorry,” she mumbles.  
The apology isn’t necessary. Nagini knows what meanness and disgust sound like when people think you should wash, eat, smile, anything- and she isn’t hearing it now.  
“It’s alright, I don’t… I don’t mind.” She reaches out and takes Goldstein’s hands, trying to copy the way the Auror was just holding hers. For a while, they simply sit like this; then Nagini says in a rush, “Miss Goldstein- I-”  
Goldstein looks up, startled. “Wait, what? I mean-” she hastily corrects herself- “you don’t have to- call me Tina, ok? Everyone else does. Well, my friends and-” she falters- “and my family, anyway. But yeah, Tina’s- Tina’s just fine.”  
Friends.  
Does that mean what she so desperately wants it to?  
Maybe she should ask, just to be sure… but she doesn’t want to seem childish. Then, she remembers why she’d spoken up in the first place. “I just wanted to say, I’m… I’m sorry about your sister.”  
Tina’s stoic mask crumples, her features twisting again with grief and anguish. But again, too, she recovers quickly, pulling back into herself. Then Nagini blinks, and the mask is back. Tina nods and says, in a choked voice, “Thank you. I’m sorry about Credence, too.” She blinks back more tears, then says “I mean it, Nagini, I really am sorry. If I’d just caught up with you both sooner-”  
“No,” Nagini interrupts. “No, don’t say that.” It’s strange- just twelve hours ago, she felt sure she’d never trust anyone again- even if Kama had complicated matters by pulling her out of that fire. But she does. She trusts Tina. And all the people in this house, actually. But looking at Tina now- it’s obvious that she means what she says, that she really does care.  
She failed, sure. Then again, they both did. They tried to help Credence, and protect him, and in the end they didn’t do enough. But still… “I don’t think it was your fault, Miss- I mean, Tina.”  
Tina doesn’t look convinced, but she still gives Nagini a smile- a small, sad, bitter one, but a smile nonetheless. Nagini is unsure, but thinks it might mean “Thank you”. Without thinking, she finds herself carrying on. “Credence…” now she struggles. She isn’t used to saying this much- all the words now in her head- in one go. But she has to try. “Credence just did what Grin… what that man expected him to do. I tried, I told him it was too dangerous, but he… he wanted to know. He wanted it too much.” The guilt is back, weighing her down like a hard, hot stone in her chest. “I tried… I tried to show him- make him see he didn’t need that, that he was… enough. I thought I could- could be enough, that I could b-be a prop-proper family, he- he’s my best friend- was… he- but I…” A last couple of tears, apparently hanging back the first time, emerge and run down her cheeks. She dabs at them with the handkerchief, that Tina had left on the blankets between them. “I didn’t do enough,” she finishes, pathetically. She doesn’t want to say it, to make it true, but....  
“I wasn’t enough.”  
Not for him. Not for anyone.  
I don’t think I ever will be.  
“Oh, Nagini…” Tina’s voice is painfully, horribly sad. She wraps her arms around Nagini again, and this time she returns the hug, letting her thin arms rest, as strong as she can make them, against the other woman’s back. “If anything, it’s me who didn’t do enough. I thought I was protecting them… I thought…”  
Nagini hears the sound of more sobs being held back, and wonders if it hurts Tina as much as it did her, keeping everything locked up inside like this. Always having to be the strong one, the responsible one. She holds her just that bit tighter, and rubs her hand up and down against Tina’s back. That’s the sort of thing people like, isn’t it?  
It must be, because Tina’s breathing steadies a little, her body relaxing. But Nagini can’t shake off the feeling that this is just a temporary fix, that Tina’s just pushing everything back down and locking her feelings away, again. Like trying to hold a door closed, as a flood pushes against it. But Tina can’t hold on forever. At some point, she’s going to have to let that door open. Let it open now, Nagini thinks, still hugging her. Let it all out, just like you told me. It’s ok. I’m here, I’ve got you. It’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up like this. You knew I needed to stop that, why can’t you see that it’s bad for you too? Please, let it out. Let it go.  
But before she can say any of this out loud, there’s a knock on the door.  
“Hello? It’s Bunty. Um, can I-”  
Tina breaks away from the hug, clearing her throat and wiping the last traces of tears away with her sleeve. “Yeah, sure. Come on in.”  
Bunty eases herself into the room, the skin on her forehead and around her eyes furrowed with concern. The smile she gives Tina is a little odd- friendly enough, but broken in her eyes by just the smallest shadow of- no, not anger. Jealousy? But then it’s gone, and Bunty’s turning worried eyes on her again.  
“I do hope you’re feeling better?” From most other mouths the words would sound artificial and pretentious, but from Bunty it sounds utterly sincere.  
Nagini nods, blushing a little. It’s true, she does, but she still wishes she hadn’t fallen apart in front of everyone like that.  
“Oh, thank goodness.” She raises her eyes to see that Bunty’s smiling again. “Anyway, I just came to say dinner’s ready, we’re serving up now. So, you know, come when you’re ready.” With a last, kindly smile at Nagini, she turns and sidles carefully back out of the door.  
Tina puts a hand on her shoulder. “Shall we go, then? You must be starving.”  
Nagini nods- now that it’s come up, she really is quite hungry- and stands up, following Tina towards the door. Then, she stops. “Miss Gold- sorry. Tina?”  
“Mm?” Tina looks at her, eyes filling with concern, apparently ready to offer more hugs and consolation. Nagini swallows, and says “Did you… did you mean what you said, before?”  
Tina frowns, tilting her head to one side, bird-like. “I… wait, which part?”  
“Are we friends?” The words come out in a rush, sounding more brusque than Nagini had in mind. She twists her frayed, ruffled sleeves and stares at the carpet, cheeks burning.  
“Oh…” Tina moves forwards, then stops. She reaches out, and takes Nagini’s trembling hands in her own. “Hey, look at me?”  
She obeys.  
Tina looks her straight in the eyes. “Yes. Yes, of course we’re friends, always. I promise. Ok?”  
Nagini tries to speak, but every word gets stuck in her throat. Building up, clogging her body down into her chest until she thinks her heart might burst. But Tina seems to understand. She gives Nagini’s hands a last, gentle squeeze, then tugs her gently towards the door. “C’mon. Let’s go eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked that! There might be a bit of a delay in getting the next chapter up because I haven't typed it yet, but hang in there- I'll harness my inner Zouwu and be as speedy as possible!
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with this, I love you guys xxx


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The surviving gang try to make it through some much-needed food. Bunty doesn't know what's going on.  
> It goes about as well as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief allusion to past rape/non-con here but it's basically a blink-and-you'll-miss-it mention.
> 
> On a happier note, there's a bit more Newtina fluff and some slow-burn non-verbal very-nearly flirting between Nagini and Yusuf. I can't help it, ever since the whole coat thing came to light I've been loving this pairing sooo much!
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated Xxx

The dinner table is already full when they sit down; Nagini takes the seat closest to the door, while Tina sits between her and Newt Scamander. She watches Kowalski as he places a dish of something steaming and delicious-smelling in the centre. He still looks gaunt and tired, and every so often a cloud of sadness passes over his face- but throwing himself into the cooking seems to have given him some sense of purpose, if not happiness.

Bunty hops up, with the eagerness of a puppy whose owner has just returned from a long holiday, and makes for the enamel water jug in front of her. "Right- I'll fill everyone's glasses, shall I? And Newt, if you make a start on those vegetables..."

The dish turns out to contain shepherd's pie, of which Bunty- clearly intent on making things as cheery and homelike as possible- starts giving out generous helpings. Her expression is far more happy and tranquil than everyone else's, and Nagini wonders how much her boss has had the heart to tell her, about what happened last night. A blush rises in her cheeks again, as Bunty serves her first- apparently, without a second thought- and only gets worse when she sees that it's rather a bit bigger than anything she's had in... well, years. She tries to compensate by taking only a small spoonful of the almost garishly bright peas and carrots, but backtracks when Tina hesitates in taking the dish. 

"Sure you don't want any more?" Her eyes and voice are keen, anxious. Nagini falters, one hand still on the handle.

"I... is that ok?"

"Yes, of _course_ it is. Don't worry, there'll be plenty left over- here, have some gravy too-" and Tina leans across the table to grab the jug.

"Try and pace yourself a little, though," Newt adds, over her shoulder. He colours slightly. "Sorry to butt in- it's just eating too much, too quickly, after a long period of malnutrition- well, you're human, so maybe it's different, but I've learned the hard way not to give my creatures too much when their... previous owners left them starved. Buggers up their stomachs something awful."

"It's not different," Tina says, pouring a generous dash of gravy over Nagini's food before helping herself. "Same rules apply to humans. Your body sort of goes into survival mode, it forgets how to process the food properly- I can't remember the science but your whole system kinda shuts down, in extreme cases." She glances up from her forkful of mashed potato to find Newt, looking at her with a mixture of gently surprise and rapturous admiration. "Auror training," she says, blushing. "We have to know basic medical care, just in case, you know, we rescue someone who's been held hostage, or something."

Nagini hides her smile at the way Newt looks as he mumbles something in reply, like he's been listening intently to every word but doesn't care what Tina says- just the sound of her voice is better than the sweetest music, to him. Still holding the dish of vegetables, she takes another, slightly larger spoonful, watching as the peas spill over the plate, like pearls from a shattered necklace. It's only then that it hits her: _you're human, so maybe it's different_.

She smiles so wide her jaw hurts. Human. They really do think of her as human.

Within seconds, everyone is tucking in- ravenously for the most part. But she still hesitates, a funny feeling in her stomach that isn't hunger. She took the extra food to please Tina, but there's another reason the portion sizes are bothering her. After all, the last time someone gave her this much... sickening memories float back into her mind. Skender, a smoke-filled room, more food than she'd seen in her life. Then nothing, and after that a locked door. It wasn't until he'd come back that the nightmare had really begun.

No. No, she's being stupid. She knows by now that no-one here will hurt her.

She gets a bit of everything onto the fork, closes her eyes, and lifts it into her mouth. It's impossible to hold back the soft _mmm_ of pleasure as the flavour explodes over her tongue. It's delicious. Remembering Newt and Tina's cautions, she resists the temptation to shovel the whole lot down in one go, slowly relishing every bite and watching the others while she eats. She'd listen, too, but no-one seems in the mood to break the silence until, after a few minutes, Bunty turns on the wireless with a flick of her wand. Jazz music floats from the speakers and hangs in the air like a mist, intricate but with a façade of laziness. It doesn't help much, but it's better than the tense nothing of before.

Next to Bunty, actoss the table, Kowalski is determinedly ploughing through his food. Every so often a smile passes over his face, sometimes with a blush- but it always fades away, overtaken by a flat, dull sadness. When Nagini finds her thoughts drifting to Credence, she knows very similar expressions are betraying them, and it's not hard to guess that Tina's blonde sister has a hold on him even from the other side of Europe. 

Kama sits on his left-hand side, at the far end of the table. Everything in his manner of eating- his posture, the way he holds the cutlery- perfectly matches the way she's imagined that rich, upper-class people eat- an upbringing designed to train a child to be neat, methodical, to perform every action with grace and decorum. (He is, she thinks, exactly the kind of person who uses words like _decorum_.) His eyes are resolutely fixed on the maroon tablecloth; whether this is from being deep in thought, or because he is afraid to meet anyone's eyes, she isn't sure. 

She isn't sure why she's disappointed by this, either. 

Tina and Newt, meanwhile, have barely taken their eyes off each other. His flit from her shoulder to her face to her lap and then back to her face again, like a pair of frightened butterflies. Hers look away occasionally, a rosy blush colouring her cheeks, but most of the time they stay rested on his face, unwavering. At least, that's what it looks like from Nagini's angle- Tina is twisted away from her and towards Newt, so her face is often hidden. But even if she only gets split-second glances at it, she has no doubt about the warmth that Tina's eyes hold for the man. She's in love, in a quiet, burning sort of way, a glow to it that's somehow both gentle and fierce all at once- as constant, as intense, as _alive_ as the fire still crackling in the grate behind them. They're both sad, sharing grief as much as love, but every so often they both smile, too. She hopes they know how lucky they are, to have someone looking at them like that. Even better, looking down she notices that- as artlessly and sweetly as two young children playing at weddings- they are holding hands. Her right in his left.

Opposite Newt, though, sits Theseus, and even without staring him in the face she knows there's something very, very wrong. 

Really, it's the way he's sitting. He's not a big man, but in this room- as in the castle and before that, the graveyard- there's something about him that makes him seem stronger, more substantial, than than some men twice his size. He's like a portrait drawn in ink, thick and bold and gleaming, while everyone else is lightly sketched in pencil. 

Leta Lestrange was like that, too. And in his own, far more malevolent way, so is Gellert Grindelwald.

Of course, Theseus isn't as powerful as that man- and back in the graveyard, something about him suggested safety rather than danger. Now, however, she watches him sit still and silent, his face as blank as stone but something terrible in his eyes. He barely touches his food and swallowing awkwardly when he does, as if his muscles will no longer obey him. (Perhaps that frightens him- if he can't command his own body, how can he command a battalion of Aurors?) Skulking like a Hidebehind, or a shadow in a darkened room when you don't know it's only a coat, he doesn't seem quite so safe now.

Finally, Newt starts talking. He and Bunty get into a long discussion about his creatures, mostly how she managed the past couple of days he'd been away. Then, he gets to describing the adult Niffler's antics in Paris. By the time he's got around to the part where it somehow tracked her magical signature and managed to convey, in looks more than words, how it felt to see even just a shimmering image of her, Tina is almost crying again.

"Oh, Newt..."

"And then he found- he found a place where you'd stopped, just for a few seconds, and-" Newt gives a little _huff_ of laughter- "just lay there and rolled around in your footprints like a puppy. I mean, it's gold they like but Nifflers just have extraordinarily powerful olfactory nerves, just in a general sense, you know and, well, I suppose he remembered your... well, not your scent exactly but..."

Tina shakes her head, grinning. "I'm not sure that he should've been that happy to recognise me. I wasn't exactly polite to him on first acquaintance."

"Oh, never mind. I know you came round to each other once you actually met. He was practically eating out of your hand by the time we left America."

"Oh." A pause, and a little laugh. "I think you're being a little optimistic, but it's still very sweet of you to say that." Tina is blushing even more furiously than before. A mischevious glint appears in Newt's eye, and then-

"You know, if you actually stop and think about it, if it wasn't for that... what did you call him, a "crazy creature"? Anyway, if it wasn't for him-"

"Don't you dare!"

"- you and I, for your information, would never have met!"

Jacob wolf-whistles and then, suddenly, everyone is laughing. For Nagini, it's a foreign sensation, rippling through her like a small electric shock, but it feels nice. Even Yus- even _Kama_ is smiling, and she doesn't want to look away this time. Even when he looks back. That smile wavers, and for a second she wonders if this was a stupid mistake, but he doesn't look any more disgusted than he did when she'd been a red-eyed, nauseous wreck. Quite a bit less, in fact. There's something in those dark eyes that have seen as much, maybe more pain than she has. It's like the look she's seen on men before, but- not. Something inside them made that look mutate and turn ugly and feral, saying _I want you- but just the outside stuff, I don't care about your mind. I don't care what you think, what you want. None of that matters, because you're just a thing for me to use and throw away. I'll make you hurt, because I like to know I can._

This man, the way he looks at her is different. It might say _I want you_ , although she can't be sure, but it's not the wanting of a hunter stalking prey or a customer buying a pretty, inanimate thing. (Of course, for some them _inanimate_ isn't the point; they like it when you struggle and cry.) But she senses that maybe, for him that is the point. _I want you, but not like they did._ (Impossible, how would he know?) _I don't want to possess you but I do want to know you. I like to look at your eyes, and I want to know what's going on behind them. I want to know what you like, how you think, what you see in me, even after knowing what you do about me. There's something there, something beautiful and fascinating that you've kept locked up inside yourself, and I want to open up the cage you've put around your self and see it, because then I'll have truly seen you. But... I only want to do that if you want me to._ The corner of his lip rises again, just a little- the smile returning, small and hesitant but unmistakably there. His eyes seem to sparkle a little in the firelight, and it seems to make a good ten years of apathy and pain vanish, _juste comme ça._ It allows her to wonder for a second, even if the hope is fragile, that his eyes really are saying what she thought they were just now. That her instincts were right, as they so often have been, and those words that came into her mind were real and not just her, projecting her own thoughts onto one of the few people with a hope of understanding her in so many other ways.

She takes a second to draw things out, investigate every line of his face and flicker of firelight in each iris, and take just a little sadistic delight in letting him be the one in the dark, trying to work out how she's feeling, what _she_ thinks of that smile.

Then, she smiles back. The smallest upward curve of her mouth, like his- but also like his, there is no denying its existence.

His own smile widens, just a little, a fresh spark in his eyes that- this time- has nothing to do with the firelight.

None of the others notice- Tina and Newt are arguing playfully, and Jacob is teasing them both over their blushes. Bunty is staring down at her plate, all the _joie de vivre_ of before vanished, and Theseus is watching his brother, his face cold and sad. Eventually, Tina throws up her hands in mock-surrender. "Ok, ok!" Then she laughs. "I guess it's thanks to him we met Jacob, too- which is indisputably a good thing, given that this man here is the best baker in the whole state of New York." She gives Nagini a conspiratorial nudge, grinning. "You've gotta try his doughnuts some day, they're absolutely delicious."

Jacob toasts her with his glass of water, rather a lot of the colour back in his round cheeks. _"Thank you._ Glad to see _someone_ appreciates my paczkis! Well, strictly speaking they're my grandma's paczkis- she brought more recipes over from Poland than she did cash, I'm telling ya- anyway, whole family used to love those things, Queenie always says-" He stops dead.

The silence returns, with a vengeance; for a long time, nobody even _moves_. Unbidden, their memories of the previous night, and the emptiness left by the people they've lost- everyone except Bunty has lost someone, she realises- break free of the locked boxes in their minds and rush back, snarling, into the light. None of them had truly forgotten, of course, but just for a little while it was nice to postpone any mourning, to half-pretend that there was no-need for it at all. At least, that's how it feels for Nagini. And she despises herself for it.

"Sorry, could someone turn that off?"

Theseus' voice has a falsely everyday note to it, barely covering the misery and anger underneath. It's in his eyes again, stronger than ever, and she has to push down the urge to get off this chair, run to the bedroom and slam the door. Instead she takes a sip of water, trying not to shudder; Tina gives her hand a gentle squeeze under the table. Newt, with the cautious steadiness of one handling a loaded gun, points his wand at the radio, and it falls silent at once. Tina stands up, her jaw set, apparently deciding that someone had to take charge here and heck, it might as well be her. "I'll clear the plates away, if everyone's finished." No-one says they aren't, and Theseus moves his knife and fork into the centre of his mostly-full plate.

Tina could have whisked the plates away by magic as easily as the House Elves packing up the circus tents, but she didn't. Perhaps she just wanted some activity to fill the emptiness, or maybe she wanted a chance to duck into the kitchen and wipe away the tears she was clearly holding back now. In any case, the table was slowly and laboriously cleared by hand. Jacob remained in his chair, mute and dejected, staring into his hands. Then Bunty, as bewildered as she did upset, said "Well... I'd best pop downstairs and check on everyone before... before we turn in. Patrick hasn't been sleeping very well, I think his stomach's playing up again." Newt gave a small nod, to acknowledge that he had heard all this; Bunty rose from her chair, but did not walk towards the basement door. Instead she hovered, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, and her next words juddered out like a flickering lightbulb- "Unless anyone would like a drink?" Without waiting for an answer, she rattles on: "There's a bottle of wine in the cupboards somewhere, I could track that down. Obviously I can't, you know, imbibe with the creatures to look after, but if anyone else fancies a glass- well, it might help with sleeping, I suppose-" She walks briskly towards the kitchen cupboards, looking no-one in the face. "Or there's a bottle of firewhisky too, if anyone wants something stronger."

The wine bottle, proudly announcing its status as both vintage and elf-made, floats towards the table. It lands clumsily, like a child hitting the ground after jumping from a high tree branch. "Right then, if anyone... there's some glasses in the cupboard..." She points weakly in the general direction of the kitchen, and her eyes fall on Theseus. He hasn't moved, sitting stiff and slightly hunched over, one hand in his lap and the other rapidly disfiguring his napkin in a vice-like grip. His eyes are glaring into the fireplace, just to the left of where Bunty's standing. She twists her apron anxiously between her reddening hands and, looking at him, she ploughs on- "You're welcome to have some, Mr Scamander, but it might not be wise, you hardly touched your food. There's plenty in the cupboards, if you're still..." He doesn't respond. "I'm sorry, but you really don't look well, ready to drop in fact- listen, are you _sure_ I can't get you some more food, or something to drink at least, or-"

Nagini sees it coming, but before she can do anything it's too late- Theseus' rage explodes, crashing from his lungs and mouth in a guttural, wordless roar of grief and pain and anger. Something invisible and powerful tears through the room; everyone staggers as it hits them and she, Nagini, almost falls off her chair. The bottle of vintage elf-made wine is hurled across the room by the tidal wave of pent-up magic, and Bunty screams as it shatters against the fireplace in a shower of broken glass and liquid the colour of blood. Theseus is on his feet, and Nagini is reminded horribly of Credence, standing over Irma's tiny body- the same inhuman rage, and emptiness of anything else except for raw, uninhibited power. 

He rounds on Bunty. 

"I don't. Care. About the FUCKING DRINK."

"Theseus..."

If the Auror hears the plea behind his brother's whisper, he ignores it, not taking his eyes off Bunty. "Don't pretend for one _second_ that you understand, not if you think one meal changes anything. She's DEAD. Do you even know what that fucking means? When's the last time someone you love kicked the bucket? My-" he stutters, but before anyone can stop him: "My fiancée- she was- she was going to be my _wife_ , the one person I love more than anyone in this fucked up world- she's amazing- clever, and kind, and funny, and brilliant-" he lets out a mirthless laugh. "Or, more accurately, she _was_ all those things, because she can't be anymore, because she's _dead_ , she's GONE, and SHE ISN'T COMING BACK." A pause, full of ragged breathing, and then- "My _soulmate_ -" and now he's facing Yusuf, sitting still and impassive, his attention fixed resolutely on the far end of the table- "your _sister_ , though from what she's told me you made a bloody terrible job at showing it-" he turns to Newt, whose expression is a frozen mess of shock and grief and fear- "your best friend since she you were kids- she's DEAD, Newt, she's been FUCKING MURDERED. I just- we just watched, watched her burn away to- to nothing, we can't even have a- a funeral-" he points at Bunty, who is cowering against the wall- "and she's STANDING THERE with a FUCKING WINE BOTTLE, you're all just _standing there-_ "

"Theseus... Theseus, please..."

But Newt's brother seems to have lost all sense of reason.

"A-and he's still out there. He murdered her and he's still out there, and we're all just sitting in Newt's front room eating whatever the hell _that_ was..." Then he rounds on Newt again- and Tina, too. "And how you two can just _sit there_ , smiling like an old married couple and giggling over the fucking _Nifflers_ I have no idea, not when that boy you kept bleating about saving has gone off with- with _him_ , and Merlin bloody knows how many Grindelwald'll have him kill _for the greater fucking good_ , along with your _sister_." This, to Tina. "Your _own sis-"_

"She'll come back." Tina walks towards him, defiance and desperation at war in her eyes. "She has to, I know she will- when she realises what he really wants she'll leave, I know it. And if we can find Credence, maybe-" 

Theseus laughs again, mocking and bitter. "Maybe what? The Ministry doesn't forgive easily and neither does MACUSA, _Auror Goldstein_ , and there's no way in hell they'll let the boy live now. Sorry, but the only way you'll get those two back is in handcuffs, if you're lucky-"

"Stop it," Tina says, her voice shaking, low and dangerous. "I'm warning you, stop talking now-"

"- and if not, well, it'll be in a coffin and that's tough luck, isn't it. Mind you, that's assuming Leta was a one-off and you get to take home a body at all-"

"STOP IT!" Tina launches herself at him, her deathly white face drenched in tears. "SHUT UP! JUST SHUT- UP!" Before she can land a punch Newt grabs her arms from behind, clutching her desperately as she struggles.

Theseus stands frozen- he hasn't raised his wand or even an arm to block the attack. His expression is somewhere between defiance and shock, the bright red draining rapidly from his face. He looks confused, disorientated, like a sleepwalker startled awake.

What he doesn't look is sorry.

Nagini understands, now more than ever, the expression "my blood is boiling". Hatred rises in her like vomit, builds and builds and builds as she looks back at Tina. Her face is twisted with anguish again and as Nagini watches her knees start to buckle, the rest of her paralysed with grief. And a part of Nagini wants to do the same thing, as the man's words about Credence play over and over again, a stuck record in her head.

She looks back at Theseus' expressionless face, and her fury erupts in a sudden, deafening crescendo. Before she can think, before she has even made a conscious decision to do it the glass is in her hand, and she has drawn her arm back and thrown it as hard as she can at Theseus' head. It hits his cheek with a sickening _crash_ \- was that a _bone_?- and as he cries out in shock and pain, it plummets to the ground and smashes.

For a few seconds she can only stand there, paralysed, anger and savage triumph surging through her like drugs in her veins. Theseus staggers and lands with one hand on the back of the nearest chair, the other clutching his swollen cheek. He stays riveted like this- hunched over, eyes down- and something inside her contracts as she sees the tears spilling from his eyes. His body convulses, as if he's trying not to collapse into sobs. He doesn't seem able to look at anyone, and she recognises his regret, his shame and disgust with himself that he'd been pushing away, crashing out into the open too late.

She knows, seeing their faces out of the corners of her eyes, that everyone is staring at her. She flinches back, terrified, as Newt half-runs forwards- but he heads away from her, all his attention focused on his brother.

"Theseus..."

The Auror also shies away from him, his face still contorted with anguish. "Theseus, please... it's alright...let me have a look at that... it's alright, come on now..." Newt guides him onto a chair, and starts gently probing the rapidly forming bruise with gentle, steady fingers. Checking to see if Nagini has broken anything inside. She can't read any of the others' expressions, not completely, but she knows without looking that they must feel the same as her: horrified. Disgusted. 

The walls are closing in on her again- she can't move, or breathe, or think-

Tina starts towards her. "Nagini-"

But she is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That whole outburst might seem out of character for some, but I guess I was a little confused that everyone seemed so... calm, all things considered, after the whole Paris fiasco. The only reasoning I could think of was that they were all in shock, and that Theseus in particular had a lot of suppressed grief and anger and guilt that was all going to erupt at some point. And when someone's been through that kind of traumatic shit it's not unusual to say and do things that they regret.
> 
> Theseus' letting-off-of-steam in that was very heavily inspired by a scene in the BBC drama A Song for Jenny. It's based on the true story of a woman whose daughter was killed in the 7/7 bombings- well worth a look if you can find it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nagini finds out that her new friends are much more understanding than she feared...  
> AKA some angst then pure platonic fluff. Enjoy ; )

A moment's pause in the darkened hallway, then she staggers as fast as her legs will allow back to the bedroom. Without turning the lights on, she slams the door behind her and sinks to the floor, trying to resist the urge to claw and scratch at her own skin until it hurts as much as she deserves.

_Freak. Dangerous. Monster._

Now she's done it. Screwed up, ruined everything- and she can't even write this off as an accident, or claim it was self-defence. Theseus was never a danger to her, not really. He was angry, sure, his magic was running away with him and he said some hurtful things, but so what? Did that make it right to hurt him? If that glass had smashed, and the pieces had gone flying, hurt him and the others... No, nothing can justify that. And would it have really mattered, at the time? She threw that glass because she was angry, because she wanted to hurt him. Because she's a crazy, twisted, dangerous freak with a mind as warped as her transformed body, and she wanted to cause him pain. Deep inside, a part of her had enjoyed it.

It'll all be over now, she's sure of it. The hugs, the kindness, the promises of protection and friendship. Even Tina, who had barely known her when she said all those nice things, will want to take them back. She'll be disgusted by her now, they all will. They've seen what she really is and, no matter how hard she clings to her humanity, what she's becoming.

A monster.

Footsteps. A tentative knock. "Nagini?"

It's Tina. A quiet moan rises in Nagini's throat as she presses her head to her knees. _Don't be mad, don't be mad, please don't be-_

"Nagini, are you in there? Can you open the door, please?"

She's too afraid to move. And yet... and yet, Tina doesn't _sound_ angry...

"Please, Nagini? I'll go away if you really want, but please, just- just let me know you're ok?"

Oh.

It's sheer confusion in the end- her desperation to make sense of the kindness in the words and their gentle tone, sorrow filling the hole where anger should be- that makes her, chest tight and painful, to stagger to her feet and open the door. Tina looks, if possible, even more worn and tired than she has all the rest of the day, and her arms look as if they've been loaded with lead weights. But she holds them out anyway. "C'mere."

Nagini almost collapses into the embrace and, even as guilt twists her insides into pretzels, suddenly she can breathe again. "I'm sorry-"

Tina detaches herself, and even though she looks just about ready to drop, her grip on Nagini's shoulders is quite steady. "Don't worry about it, ok? Theseus had some pretty nasty bruising but Newt patched him up in a few seconds, so no harm done."

Nagini's forehead is all creased up with utter bewilderment. Even though it's starting to sink in, deeper and deeper, that Tina doesn't see a monster to be punished when she looks at her, even though she's about as different from Skender as a Hippocampus from a Kappa, this still feels... wrong. There's a programme in Nagini's head, a formulaic selection of what she can say about herself and expect from others, and this just doesn't fit with that programme.

"You... you don't want me to go?"

"Go? Wha- wait, you mean leave here? No, of course not!"

"But-" Relief is flooding through Nagini's body, filling her up like hot, sweet tea. "But- Tina, I _hurt_ someone. I... I _wanted_ to hurt him."

Tina's smile almost, _almost_ blurs into a grimace- but it's still quite recognisably a smile. "Yeah... not your brightest moment, perhaps." Then she shrugs, and with a small, sob-tinged laugh says "Having said that- if he'd carried on talking like that I'd have hexed him something awful, so it's not like I've got any moral high ground there."

The laugh escapes Nagini without conscious thought, like a brook dancing over rocks. She hastens to stifle it, to be serious and mature and just a touch repentant. "Still... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... you know."

"No," Tina says, "I guess not. But Theseus shouldn't have said those things, Nagini. You're both grieving, both angry... we all are. Something like that was bound to happen eventually."

Nagini nods, trying not to dissolve into tears again. Not even when a small, knife-sharp voice whispers in her mind, _of course, that's not the only thing that's doomed to happen eventually, is it. And then what will happen? When your body has changed forever and you have no memories, no sense of who you are, nothing except an animal's instincts to hunt and kill? How will your new friends look at you then?_

No. No, she isn't going to think about that now. She just has to get through today. And then the next day, and the next day after that. There are things that need to be done, and there are things that you know you _can_ do. Concentrate on those. For example: "I... I could go and apologise to him now, maybe? If you think-"

"Who, Theseus? He's not here any more. Newt took him to their parents' house in... Chelsea, I think he said? Anyway, he figured peace and quiet would do him some good. And he's going to stay there with him, at least tonight. Shoulder to cry on, and all that."

"Oh."

Tina gives her shoulder another small, affectionate rub. "Don't worry about it any more, ok?"

"I-" Nagini swallows, then draws herself up a little. "Ok."

Tina smiles, and some of the pain and fatigue seems to melt away from her face. "I'll leave you to get some rest, then. Oh- or I could run you that bath, if you like. It'll help you relax, trust me."

Nagini considers briefly, then nods. "That- that would be lovely. Thank you. If... I mean... if it's not too much trouble..."

In response, Tina pulls her into yet another hug- what is this, the fifth? Sixth? And in the space of three hours, if that- and murmurs, " It's absolutely no trouble whatsoever. I promise." Before Nagini can hug her back, she pulls away and walks quickly off towards the next room. "Bathroom's just through here. I'll call you when it's ready, ok?" She's smiling again, but her voice is shaking slightly, and something's glistening in her eye as she turns away. "Oh- and don;t worry about anyone disturbing you. I've made it very clear to the men that I'll disembowel them and feed the entrails to Newt's kelpie if they're stupid enough to barge in on you."

Nagini's stomach twists horribly, remembering all the men who've seen far more than she wanted anyone to... but she forces the recollections aside, smiles at Tina in thanks, and asks the first question that comes into her head.

"I thought the men were staying at Theseus' house?"

"What? Oh- no, it was just him and Newt who left. We, uh, we all sort of agreed that cluttering up Theseus and Le-“ she falters- “that cluttering up Theseus’ place with guests would be, you know, unhelpful.” She shrugs. “So we’ll try and squeeze Jacob and Yusuf in as best we can, I guess.”

Something twists inside Nagini’s stomach and- _oh-_ a sudden heat, the same fluttering she felt watching him at the table...

Tina, oblivious to this, opens the bathroom door and strides briskly inside, turning on the light with a flick of her wand. The room is modest with the same chilly, Spartan quality as the bedroom, but the light adds a warm, yellow glow and the bathtub itself is bigger than any Nagini has seen in her life. With another silent spell of Tina’s the plug skids into place and the taps turn of their own accord, clean water gushing out and drumming onto the porcelain like the first showers of monsoon rain. Tina gives a satisfied nod, then looks back at Nagini, her expression hesitant and concerned. “Is that ok with you? Kama staying here, I mean.”

Nagini opens her mouth to say yes, it’s fine, but then stops. Something has tightened inside her chest; her mind is racing, and suddenly those three words don’t feel like enough any more. Anger, sadness, tension, happiness, relief- they’re all jumbled together inside her, and there are no words she knows, in English or any other language, that can get them all across at once.

Perhaps misreading her silence for simple fear, Tina hastily adds, “It wouldn’t be for very long- just until morning. And you won’t have to see him if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, either- I mean, after all the shit he’s pulled-“

”No!” The word tumbled out of Nagini before her brain catches up with her mind. “I mean-“ she swallows, trying to collect herself. “I- I don’t mind him being here. It’s fine.” To her utter embarrassment, she feels the heat of a blush, smouldering into being under the pale skin on her face. “He- he saved my life back there” she adds, defensively.

Tina scoffs a little, but there’s warmth behind her eyes. “Least he could do, in my not-so-humble opinion.” 

A breath of laughter escapes her. "Yes", she manages, unable to keep her blush from deepening or her mouth from curving into a little smile. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Apparently realising that she doesn't know where to look, Tina grins. "I don't know whether to shake his hand or sock him, sometimes."

Nagini laughs again, even though her jaw is starting to ache a little. (Besides, it's hard not to when she imagines the elegant, slightly stuck up but not-that-bad-when-you-get-to-know-him pure-blood getting smacked in his seemingly unflappable face by awkward, kind-hearted Tina- or with a recently-thrown sock on it, which is the first picture her mind conjures up.) 

Tina grabs a bottle from the side of the bathtub, and tips a decadent quantity of bright blue liquid into it. Then she raises her wand again, and pokes it into the fast-rising water, which is now barely visible beneath a thick layer of bubbles. (They smell of flowers.) "There... that should keep the temperature comfortable. Call me if it's too hot or anything, ok?"

"Ok." She's trying not to think about the nagging ache that she still feels inside her, telling her that something must be wrong. All this gentleness and kindness is like a jigsaw piece that's the right shape but doesn't look right with the rest of the picture. 

A gentle hand, resting, on her shoulder. "I'll be just down the hall if you need anything", Tina says.

Nagini nods, then adds a hasty "Thank you". She's rewarded with another smile, and then she's alone with the yellowish light, and ever-present rush of sweetly scented water.

She bolts the door, and carefully removes her dress, shoes, underwear. The dress, which for all its shimmering beauty has always been tight and itchy, scratches across her skin as she prises it off. With a rush of savage triumph, she realises that she'll never have to wear it again. And now that it's crumpled in a heap on the cold linoleum floor, she can see more clearly than ever what the punters didn't: that it's nothing but a gaudy, faded old thing of cheap fabric, any artificial shine long gone. And it wasn't chosen to be pretty in its own right; it was chosen to fit the curves and contours of her underfed body. To mould her into some sleazy, drunk man's idea of beauty; to appeal not to her self-esteem but to their ugly, perverted lust. _So beautiful... so desirable._

Tomorrow, she decides, she'll burn it.

But for now, she kicks it aside like the piece of worthless crap that it is, turns the tap off, and climbs into the bath.

A sudden hiss escapes her at the burning heat of the water, but this first shock wears off as a tingling sensation spreads to her feet. She braces herself, then lowers the rest of her body in and lies back, bubbles clustering all the around her. It feels decadently, deliciously, _gloriously_ wonderful.

Acclimatised, she lets out a contented little sigh, savouring the warmth, the flowery perfume and the drowsy sensation that slowly envelop her. She feels... nice, she realises. Still tired and underneath that still very, very sad, and almost as angry, and tense and sore in all the wrong places... but still. She feels ok. And as for the tightness and aches in the body, she can feel the hot water taking care of that already.

She doesn't feel happy quite yet, not exactly. But she has a hot bath, a comfortable bed in a clean, safe house, and her belly is full of good, freely-given food. And just along the hallway, even if her soul aches for the man that she loves and has lost, are the large man who was kind to her, the woman who soothed and comforted and would fight to defend her, and the man who gave her his handkerchief and before that, his coat and before that, saved her life. 

Yes... that's it.

That's the right word.

For the first time in years, maybe in forever, she feels _safe_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This one was hell to get finished, I was so busy last week and the wifi was crap- but it's done now, and I really hope you enjoyed it!  
> Chapter 5 might take a while to get up, mainly because... well... I haven't written it yet! I initially meant to leave it as a separate fic, but now I think it'll work better as part of this one. I'll try and do it by the end of the month, but I can't make any promises.  
> However, I do already know what's going to happen, and to keep you going, here's a quote- see if you can guess who's saying it and who to!
> 
> "You were right [...] what you said, before. She is very beautiful."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I didn't put this up before, but CONTENT WARNING- same as the previous two, discussion of past rape/non-con. And it's definitely more explicit/graphic than before.
> 
> To skip it, stop at 'She's pregnant' and pick it up again at '"Sorry, sorry...".

Nagini wakes with a start, eyes wide open and heart hammering in her chest. It's only as she throws off the covers, and makes to scramble out of the bed, that she remembers. This isn't the circus: the blankets are too heavy and too warm, the bed too soft. And when her eyes adjust to the almost-darkness, and she recognises the bed, the chair, the faded wallpaper, she remembers- finally- that that time's all over. She is no longer in Paris, or Madrid or Kosovo or Saigon or any of the other places. No more shows, no more cage, and no more Skender hitting the bars with his cane to wake her up in the morning. She is at Newt Scamander's house in London, and Miss Goldstein- Tina- is just down the hall and she, Nagini, is not sleeping with his creatures in the basement. She is safe, she doesn't have to get up if she doesn't want to, and no-one will hurt her here.

And Credence is gone.

And she is safe.

And Theseus Scamander made Tina cry and she threw a plate at him.

And Credence is gone.

But she is safe.

But Credence is gone.

But she-

Without even opening the curtains, she can tell it's long past dawn; she can hear city noises, distant and faint, coming from outside. The honk and rumble of a car, the footsteps and voices of goodness knows how many people walking the streets. Much closer at hand, though, she can running water and footsteps in the bathroom and hear voices and movement in Newt's kitchen, which must be right next door to this room (on the side closest to the headboard. The clinking of plates and cutlery drifts through the walls, too, along with the sound of a kettle whistling. At this point her stomach growls, and she realises it's painfully empty again.

She puts on the clothes laid out on the spindly chair- Bunty is slightly shorter than her, but they're not uncomfortable- and tentatively leaves the room, feeling rather as if she's broken into the house and is trying to sneak out unnoticed. Before she can keep this up all along the passage, however, Tina abruptly steps out of the living room door; they both jump when they spot each other. "Oh! There you are-" Tina half-runs over and gives her yet another hug. Her eyes are still a little red- perhaps Newt offered a shoulder to cry on, during the night- but she looks much healthier and less defeated than she did yesterday. She backs up but keeps holding Nagini gently by the shoulders, scrutinising her. "You look much better," she pronounces, warmly. "Did you slip alright?" Nagini nods, cheeks going rather pink. It's all she can do to stop herself from gushing about how well-rested, how fresh and just so _awake_ she feels, because doing that would make her sound like an advertisement for a mattress company and that's something she'd rather avoid, thank you very much. She opts instead for the more concise "Yes, it was lovely. I... thank you."

In the next room, someone flicks on the wireless; Nagini's senses allow her to make a pretty sure guess that every occupant of the house is currently in that room. No- two are missing, whoever's in the bathroom and someone else. Newt, perhaps? But anyway- everyone else is awake.

She frowns. "How long was I asleep? What time is it?"

Tina smiles guiltily. "Last time I checked... one-fifteen, give or take a couple minutes. We were just having lunch, that's why I was coming to wake you up." Her guilty blush deepens. "I checked in on you at about ten, but you were fast asleep and you looked so peaceful, I didn't have the heart to- anyway, I figured skipping two meals wouldn't be all that good for you, so..."

Her voice is so matter-of-fact, like this kind of thing is perfectly normal. Does she realise, Nagini wonders, what it means to have a proper witch- one who works for a Ministry, no less- treating her as an equal, as a _friend_ _?_ It gives her a strange kind of ache inside, the way that such simple acts- not wanting to make her wake up if she'd rather sleep, not wanting her to go hungry- make her feel so happy. It makes the pain of missing Credence all the sharper, but that can't be helped.

Tina grins. "C'mon, let's get you something to eat."

Nagini is relieved when she doesn't have to walk past Kama, Jacob and Bunty to get to the kitchen; the only sign that anyone's been in there is the still-warm pan on the stove. The food is some kind of thick soup made with meat and vegetables, with slices of hard-boiled egg on top and large wedges of bread and butter on the side. She eats it sitting at the small, rickety table in Newt's kitchen, with a cup of tea (too much milk, but Tina- sitting opposite her, drinking coffee- doesn't need to know that) and then a couple of sweet, rectangular biscuits from a rusty tin, printed with cheerful Christmas scenes and with a lid that won't fit back on properly. When she's finished, her very-nearly-clean dishes are whisked away, sent with a wave of Tina's wand to join the pile of things washing themselves in the bubble-filled sink. Nagini hovers awkwardly in the cluttered space for a bit, feeling rather useless and very much in the way- until inspiration strikes, and she badgers Tina until the latter agrees to let her dry and tidy every last spoon, pan lid and vegetable peeler away in their slightly dusty, sparsely populated homes. 

They're both halfway done when Jacob wonders in, greeting her with a tired and still-sad but very real smile, quickly washing his own empty mug and planting himself firmly at her side, armed with the spare tea towel and a whistled ragtime song. Shyly, Nagini thanks him for the food; he assures her it was nothing- after all he loves to cook, and he's real glad she liked it! (Is it another of his grandmother's recipes?) Who else?- and then he's _off_ , talking all about how what they just ate was kinda the cheat's version of _Żorek_ \- that's a traditional broth in Poland and it's got a very different taste, actually, because it's made with a sour liquid made of rye flour and garlic which he couldn't put together at such short notice- maybe next week, if he can find a Polish grocery store?- and, he's not kidding, the bread (traditionally rye, of course) is supposed to be baked into bowls; you eat the soup out of them and then eat the bread itself! How awesome is that? Oh, and some time she's gotta try some _Bigos_ , it's this stew with cabbage and sauerkraut and meat and all sorts, his grandma used to-

By the time they've seen every item back in its proper place in the kitchen cupboards, Nagini is smiling more widely, and with more shine in her eyes, than she ever thought possible.

Jacob brews another round of tea for all three of them and for a while, they just talk. Neither she nor Tina is eager to talk about what they ate when they were kids, or indeed about their childhoods at all- Tina because (at a guess) this might lead to questions about her sister; Nagini because... well, she just doesn't want to. So they ask Jacob instead, about his childhood in the Bronx- which swiftly leads on to the stories his Grandma, who he was closer to than anyone else in his family, had told him about "the old country". The way the late Antonina Kwolek describes Poland through her grandson is fairytale-like; no wonder Jacob dreams, he admits, of going back one day.

Remembering last night, they all studiously avoid mentioning anything that could dig up bad memories, the ones that they're keeping buried for as long as they possibly can. They know they'll have to, one day, but they also know how much it will hurt, so they convince themselves there's nothing wrong with avoiding that pain until another day. And another, and another, and another... but that doesn't matter now. After a while, the conversation lapses into a friendly but still slightly awkward silence, which Nagini eventually fills by asking, "So... is it just us this morning? I- I haven't seen Newt or Bunty at all."

(She actually wants to know where Kama is, too. She very specifically wants to know it very, very much. But she's not about to admit that to anyone else.)

An odd, dreamy look passes over Tina's face before she hastily moves to get their empty mugs cleaned, her eyes fixed determinedly on the floor and- is she? Oh, she is _definitely_ blushing. She recovers enough to say, "Uh- yeah, Bunty clocked on at about nine, and Newt got back before you woke up. Theseus... wanted to be alone for a bit, I think. Newt'll probably check on him in an hour or two." She looks briefly downcast- they all do- then her face softens, and she says "Still, I doubt he could stay away from his beasts for very long. He worries so about them... I went down in the basement with him earlier, it... it's amazing." Her eyes are shining, full of remembered awe and wonder. "There's just so much _space_ down there, and so many creatures- Mooncalves and Fwoopers and a Lacrotta- it looks like a stag, but with _the_ biggest mouth you've ever seen, I swear on Morrigan, it's _huge_. His name is Keith," she adds, fondly. "There's even a Kelpie, this great big man-eating seaweed horse thing- it was awesome. Terrifying, but awesome." She stares at nothing for a few seconds, her face full of bliss- then, suddenly, she snaps back to reality. "I just thought- Nagini, you haven't been down there yet! I can show you now, if you want, Newt and Bunty won't mind! And, well," she adds, with the nervousness of a person desperate to clarify something, "You're the only one in this room who hasn't been down there yet, so it's only fair." 

This, she's sure, is Tina attempting to patch over the misunderstanding of last night, to reassure Nagini that she truly just wants to see all the wonders (from the adorable to the terrifying) of Newt's underground zoo, that she isn't offering to take her to see the beasts because thinks Nagini belongs with them herself. And she's grateful for that, she really is, not to mention excited to see the creatures and perhaps even more so to have two- _two!_ \- friends who care enough to share all this with her. It's lovely, it's a wonderful feeling, one of the best feelings in the world.

But still...

She knows it's foolish; there's no proper logic to it, not really. But when she thinks about going down there, imagines not how it'll look so much but the _noises_ , the smells...

It makes her think, however little she wants to, of a tent, and a cage, and lying on a thin mattress every night listening to growls, screeches, gurgles and moans of all the creatures locked up a few yards away from her, on every side. Curled up there, shivering with cold or near-fainting from the heat, singing the few songs from Indonesia she still remembered and trying not to think about how, one day, the thing that was her voice would- _will_ someday vanish like melting snow, mutating forever into another meaningless, emotionless animal sound in that feral chorus of noises made by things that can be called _things_ without causing offence because, after all, they're not human. They're something lesser, separate, like the women Corvus Lestrange collected...

Even Skender had known. She could still remember his voice, as he walked away from her cage that first night: _you'll be one of them soon enough, might as well get used to it_.

But she can't get used to it. Not yet, anyway. Not now.

So she puts all the strength she's got into taking the darkest memories and scariest feelings, and pushing them far, far below the surface, not one scrap of them showing on her face. Then she thanks Tina politely- yes, it does sound interesting, but (standing up) maybe later? She's... still a little tired, and she should probably- probably go clean up, and... stuff...

There's a pause while she tries to think of more important things she can suddenly, conveniently need to do- and then Tina says, a little too quickly, "Oh- sure. Yeah, we're all still a little exhausted, I guess..." She reaches across the little table and squeezes Nagini's shoulder. "We'll be around if you need us, ok?"

She nods, returns the smile. She can't think of anything to say and even if she could, she doubts that the words would come. Still, Tina seems to understand. They exchange one last, unsure smile, then she leaves the room. As soon as she's in the corridor, though, she hears Tina whispering: "Was that... did I say something wrong? Or maybe she's still upset about yesterday..."

"Hey, don't worry 'bout it." Jacob's voice is sympathetic, reassuring. "She's probably still jus' shaken up, after everything... give her a little time, that's all..."

Ah. Not so good at pushing those feelings down, then... _damn it..._

But she isn't quite brave enough to go back and try and explain herself, or reassure them. So she keeps walking; goes to the bathroom, washes her face, uses the toothbrush that's been left for her- or so the mirror loudly informs her, right after a great deal of tutting and instructions to comb her hair and tuck her blouse in. It's not quite enough to get rid of the embarrassment and guilt smouldering away inside her, but it helps. She slips back into the bedroom just as the living room door starts to open and lies down on the bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling because there's nothing else to do.

She must be even more tired than she first thought, or maybe it's her full stomach that's making everything, even her eyelids, feel so heavy. In any case, within a few seconds she is asleep.

When she wakes, two hours might have passed or twenty. She can hear the sound of running water in the kitchen, and Bunty humming and singing in the same soft, sweet voice as yesterday. Someone else walks along the hall and enters the bathroom; a third person is busying themselves with something in the living room, but she isn't sure who.

Fuck this for a laugh, as the English say... but just like before she fells asleep, she doesn't know what else to do. Even if she did, she wouldn't feel like doing it. What she does feel is something cold and heavy, like a great fog crowding into her body and weighing down her stomach, keeping her slumped and frozen every time she so much as thinks about getting up, or even about moving at all.

It's probably nothing. She's probably just still tired.

She hopes so.

A spider, scuttling across the wall in front of her. 

She's never been scared of spiders.

She follows it with her eyes, and they land on something large and blue, draped haphazardly over the spindly wooden ch-

"Shit!" Her heart jolts and she sits bolt upright, all lethargy gone. Because she'd completely forgotten about the bloody thing, left it lying there all day and that was obviously, definitely wrong of her, she shouldn't have done that- after all, it's impolite to borrow things and not give them back. Yes. That's why her heart's going a mile a minute, and without even a hope of matching pace with the butterflies in her stomach. Yes, it has everything to do with her desire to be polite, and absolutely nothing to do with her feel- that is, to do with the coat's owner. Nothing. Nothing at all. Obviously. Of course not!

But anyway- she really should give it back to him, if he's still around. Then again, he might have left while she was asleep... (The sudden ache in her chest, by the way, is indigestion, or a pulled muscle or something. It's not fear, or sadness, or anything like that. She's not upset that she might not get to see him again, maybe for a long time; why on earth would she be?)

Right, then. The coat. She'll just grab it now, and go check the living room and the kitchen. If he's not there... well, she can leave it in the hallway, he's sure to come back for it at some point. (Which would be fine, obviously. It's not like she _wants_ to return it in person, after all. Maybe she will, and maybe that would be nice. But equally, if she doesn't see him that's perfectly fine... of course it is...)

She stands up, taking a quick glance in the age-spotted mirror- she could have sworn there was something caught in her hair and it would be silly not to check, wouldn't it- and picks up the stupid old coat. He should just get a new one, really- this one's clearly seen better days.

But as she lifts it carefully over her arm, something goes fluttering to the ground, landing gently on her foot before tumbling down onto the carpet. It must have fallen out of one of the pockets; she stoops and picks it up.

It's a photograph, a magical one. Nagini has always liked them- Skender would give her old newspapers and magazines from the trash to read, when the circus had a long way to travel and he was in a good mood for once. It had certainly helped her fluency in the several languages she could speak, but what she'd really enjoyed was looking at the pictures. Before Credence had turned up, and shown her what real, proper friendship could look like, they had been her only enjoyable company. The way they'd nodded and waved just like real people, laughing, scowling and everything in-between, while in the society pages the singers and models, politicians' mistresses and pure-blood debutantes posed in luxurious ballgowns and specially commissioned necklaces. When they smiled and laughed and pouted, they looked like miniature versions of No-Maj movie stars, the kind she's dreamed of looking like but never watched on a screen. 

Which is ironic because the woman in this photograph, to Nagini, is far more beautiful than all of those society ladies put together- and if any witch could pass for a movie star, it's her. Her old-fashioned clothes are good quality and very expensive-looking, but a far cry from a corseted ballgowns. The high-collared, simply cut bodice extends gracefully down into full but not stupidly puffy sleeves, and a long skirt of the same colour. Unlike the newspaper socialites, too, she wears no makeup, and her hair is arranged in a simple up-do that, even if it probably was arranged with the help of various potions, is hiding it well. A brooch glitters at the hollow of her neck, and when she moves her left hand a bracelet slides up and down the wrist, set with what looks like diamonds. Behind her, Nagini can see the wooden boards and metal railings of a pier, and the deep, grey expanse of seawater dancing behind that. A strong wind is threatening to knock her off her feet, and making her skirts fly out like the plumes on the Zouwu's tail, as well as lifting the sea up and down like a flock of enraged hippogriffs as the spray showers down onto her skin. She cries out and ducks her head every time, but she's laughing- a pure, joyful laugh that spreads like a sunrise to every muscle of her lovely face. Her eyes are soft, and kind, and full of that indescribably sparkle that marks their owner out as someone who's in pure, joyful, passionate love with life and everything in it. Even though she has never seen this woman before in her life, only heard her name through her son's lips when he spoke of how she died, Nagini recognises her instantly. She turns the photograph over, and there it is on the back, written in neat, curling script: _Laurena á Boulogne, juillet 1884._

The late Madame Kama is brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, stumbling a little as, breathless, she continues to laugh. She looks up, as if listening to someone behind the camera; whatever they're saying, it looks like it's making her blush, her smile beaming even wider.

(Yusuf's father, perhaps. The man who... no, don't think about that.)

Then, Laurena glances down at her abdomen and cups a strong, graceful hand over her stomach. She can't take her eyes off it now, smiling at it like it's the most precious thing in the world.

She's pregnant.

Affection, sadness and hot, burning anger all erupt inside Nagini at once. The first time with a baby growing inside her, she must have been so excited... smiling down at her just-visible bump forever, not knowing that this was the last time she'd ever be pregnant by choice. By her choice, anyway. 

The thought makes Nagini feel sick. But perhaps it's better, in its own vile way, that she was under the spell at the time time. At least then it won't have hurt, she won't have had to look into his eyes or listen to his panting like a rabid dog, or feel when his hot breath smothered her face or when the sensations down _there_ made her climax even though she doesn't want to, even though she feels scared and filthy and disgusting and she's praying for the moment he'll stop, at least-

A car backfires somewhere outside and she jumps, shocked out of her worst, her darkest memories, before- "Damnit-" realising that her hands are empty. 

"Sorry, sorry..." She picks it up, holding it as carefully and gently as Newt would one of his Nifflers.

Laurena's son, she knows, will want this back.

The walk down the hallway takes longer than it should, because her stomach keeps twisting itself into knots and her legs suddenly feel rather stiff, as though she's trying to wade upstream through the shallows of the Seinne. Cold, clear sunlight drifts timidly through the panes of glass in the door, grey and stiff and unassuming like, she supposes, a lot of the people outside. She finally reaches the living room door, and hovers in front of it for a good minute. Should she be quiet? Where should she look? What should she _say_ _?_

She looks down at her fingers on the door handle, and notices them shaking. Her eyes fall on the photograph; Laurena is still smiling. Is she imagining it, or is there something encouraging about the look in her eyes?

She opens the door.

Her instincts, it seems, have yet to fail her: he's there, standing in front of the fireplace, holding a small, lime green pot in one hand and rummaging in it with the other. He looks up when she enters, a little startled but not, as far as she can tell, displeased. Before either of them has to suffer the awkwardness of stumbling through a greeting (hello? Good afternoon? _Is_ it still the afternoon?), she makes her purpose in coming obvious by holding out the coat. His features relax instantly.

"Ah- thank you." He replaces the pot's lid and sets it back on the mantelpiece, brushing silvery-grey Floo powder off his hands onto the once-expensive jacket. They both walk towards each other, meeting halfway, before he carefully takes it from her. "I was going to stop by tomorrow, if I didn't see you. Tina said you'd gone back to sleep, I didn't want to disturb you. Not for this old thing." He's aiming for a nonchalant, jesting tone, but she can see the relief in his eyes. She still holds the photograph in her hand, but he hasn't seen it. He's looking at her face instead. As if it's the most interesting thing in the whole room.

"You're leaving," she says, instead. _(Stupid, stupid... at least say it like a question!)_ Luckily, Kama doesn't seem offended- more apologetic- as he says, "Yes. For now, at least."

That _for now_ makes something leap happily inside her. "Oh?"

He shrugs. "Well, I- I can't go back to France, not yet. And Theseus Scamander gave me directions to Diagon Alley. Apparently there's an inn there called the Leaky Cauldron- terrible name for a public house, but anyway-" Nagini can't hold back a small laugh- "so I'll try and get a room there for a few days. But, well-" he gestures vaguely towards the basement door- "his brother has- was kind- enough to say that I'll be welcome back at any time, and in any case I'd like to s- that is, I- I expect we'll be seeing each other again-"

"Good."

"- at some point..."

She's blushing even hotter than the afternoon's tea. _Ya Allah_ , why _did I say that,_ why?

When she eventually forces herself to look up, that same small smile is playing about the corners of his mouth again. To cover the awkwardness, she blurts out the first thing that comes into her head which, unfortunately, turns out to be "Why can't you go back to France? Did the Ministry-"

"No, nothing like that." He's quiet for several seconds, apparently deep in thought. Finally, he says, "I suppose... because if there's going to be any kind of movement in Europe, as it were, to resist Grindelwald, it seems likely to begin here. With Dumbledore at the heart of it all, I think, whether he wants to be there or not. And-" H swallows sharply, blinking hard. "And I want justice, for her. For Leta." And that cold, hard look comes into his eyes again, the same one he put on that night in the cemetery. 

_Le regard d'un assassin._

"I want him finished. So- yes, I'm staying."

She nods. The look doesn't scare her any more. Which gives her the confidence, even though she's unsure if it's proper, to say, "I should have said, before now... I'm- I'm very sorry for your loss."

The coldness softens so that he doesn't look dangerous. Only sad. "And I for yours."

She looks at him and knows, or tries to tell him that she does, that he is apologising for more than that. For his decisions, as well as her friend's. They stand like this for several seconds, until she begins to sense that both of them are trying to say, with their eyes, things that no human language has any translatable words for. Then, he clears his throat; the moment breaks. "I should be going."

"Wait-" He halts, mid-turn. "You should take this."

She holds out Laurena's photograph.

At first, she's afraid that he's stopped breathing. But then he lets out a small, shuddering exhale and, with trembling fingers, reaches out to take it. "Thank you." 

His voice is quieter, more choked, than she's ever heard it before.

"I- I'm sorry, I- it fell out when I picked it up earlier, I didn't want to put it back in the wrong place, and-"

He brushes her half-apologies aside with a slight wave of his hand. " _C'est d'accord_. No harm done." Then he carefully, tenderly places it inside the left inside pocket. 

Next to his heart. And she realises: there's something she has to say, right now. Something very, very important.

"You were right."

He looks up, frowning a little. 

"Your mother, she..." It's difficult, but she looks him right in the eye when she says it. "She's beautiful."

Something changes in his face, like a great stone wall falling away and crumbling to dust: he is more vulnerable now, more raw and open, than she has ever seen him. Something glimmers at the corner of his eye.

"Yes," he finally says. "I suppose she was. Then again, all children..." he clears his throat, blinks back the tears. "Thank you."

Nagini smiles, a little. She's unsure why, but she knows: it's time to go. 

_For now._ "À bientôt then, Monsieur."

He smiles back. "Apelles-moi Yusuf, s'il vous plaît." He takes up the pot of Floorwalkers powder again, then looks back, smiling with something in his eyes that she thinks might be hope. "Goodbye, Nagini."

She gives him another smile, one that says _don't be long_ , and turns to leave. She hears a whoosh of flames, a clearly spoken "Diagon Alley", and then he's gone. She slips through the living room door back into the hallway, which feels much more... empty than it did five minutes ago. "Oh!"

She's come face to face with Tina. Again. (And they both jump. Again.)

"Hey. Feelin' any better?"

Nagini's smile is real when she says, "Yes, I think so." Because as a matter of fact, she does. She really, really does. The Auror beams at her and then, without stopping to think, she- Nagini- says, "Can I see in the basement?"

Perhaps if something truly incredible happened, like everything metal in the building turning into gold, Tina would be able to look more overjoyed and thrilled than she does right now. Still, Nagini isn't sure.

"Oh my- of course you can- and we _have_ to find the others once we're down there, they'll be thrilled! C'mon-" and she all but skips to the door. Nagini goes through after her and they walk together, following the shrieks and roars and chattering, as well as several much more human-sounding voices, talking and laughing.

The sounds become louder and louder, the further they walk down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> (To be clear: I am IN NO WAY saying that sexual assault is "better" if the victim is unconscious. I just felt like what I wrote above is how Nagini, who is a survivor herself, might see it. However, that's just my guess- I don't claim to have any kind of first-hand experience with how a person might deal with that kind of trauma.)


End file.
